Falling
by sg2009
Summary: Written for the prompt 'Gen, early Season 1. Dean experiences a serious illness while Sam is away at Stanford and hides the leftover or recurring symptoms from him once Sam is back on the road. Then Dean collapses during a hunt...' Not a deathfic
1. Chapter 1

Sam should have made his brother stay in bed at the motel. He had been throwing up half the night. But Dean claimed he was good. And Sam was tired, and mourning Jessica, and he let it go. If Dean wanted to be a stupid jerk, Sam wasn't going to stop him. Besides, they were hunting goblins. It was basically a pest removal job.

In the middle of cleaning the group out, Sam saw Dean drop. Mid-swing. He just fell, hard and fast. His machete dinged as it hit the floor. The goblins stopped and stared at his brother's crumpled form for a moment; their faces ugly…uglier…when surprised. Sam blinked through the yellow blood splattered on his face and stared too.

That didn't last long. Sam had five goblins to kill and one unconscious brother to protect. Those little green suckers were dead in a minute. After he beheaded the last one, that's when the worry hit.

"DEAN!" Sam knelt beside him on the sticky floor. He patted his brother's shoulder. "Dean?"

His eyelashes fluttered. "Sam?" His voice sounded raspy.

Sam heaved a relieved sigh. "You alright? You fainted, man."

"Yeah…okay…goblins?" Dean asked looking pale. His freckles stood out like black dots on his face.

"Dead." Sam pulled him to his feet. Dean felt surprisingly thin beneath his layers. Sam looked him over. Actually, now that Sam was thinking about it, Dean looked kind of bony. Sam never remembered a time before this when his brother fit that description. He frowned. Dean swayed on his feet. "Whoa. Let me help you." Dean tried to shrug Sam off. But Sam gripped his brother tighter. "Come on. Let's get outta here."

Dean grunted, but he let Sam help him to the car.

His brother got into the hotel room on his own power. "Shower." Dean mumbled. He fumbled off his jacket and trudged into the room. Moments later, Sam heard him retching into the toilet.

Sam knocked. "Dean? You alright?"

Dean cursed. Sam heard shuffling. His brother cursed again. Then Sam heard him sigh.

"Hey, Sam." Dean paused. "Uhh…I can't get up."

Worry fluttered in Sam's gut again. He opened the door to find Dean sprawled on the floor, leaning against the toilet in his boxers and his faded t-shirt. His under clothes hung loose on his frame. Sam gasped. His brother looked like a damn waif. His skin was wan. His shoulder blade was prominent. Sam was certain that if he lifted up Dean's shirt he'd be able to count his ribs. What the hell? Sam glowered at him. He closed the lid of the toilet and helped his brother up to sit on it. He tried to be gentle with him. It was difficult. He wanted to throttle the jackass.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam said.

"Oh." Dean pulled on his shirt and motioned to his body. "Oh…um…it's just cancer."

"Cancer…" Sam said dumbly.

"Yeah, college boy, cancer. Don't worry, dude. I'm on my last course of treatment. I set it up all outpatient." He added proudly.

Sam stared at him. "What?" He couldn't think of one thing to say to that. "What?" He said again. Then thought rushed in shocking and cold like ice water. Sam should have seen something was wrong with his brother. But he was still so messed up over Jessica, still so pissed at Dad for being gone, still so exasperated at Dean for following the man blindly, that he didn't. None of that was a good enough excuse, though, thinking back over the last few weeks.

Since Christmas, Dean kept disappearing on Wednesdays – every Wednesday, regardless of which town they were in. Dean had had food poisoning more than once lately too. Food poisoning…yeah right. Sam had been too lost in his own misery to think much on it. Damn his stubborn brother. In hindsight, it was so obvious he was sick. Sam sighed. Maybe Dean had been waiting for Sam to catch on. He stared down at him. Dean fidgeted under the scrutiny.

"We gonna stay in here all night, Sam, or you gonna help me to the bed?" Dean tugged on Sam's shirt. "There's some anti-nausea pills in my bag. Grab 'em for me." His brother sounded bossy as opposed to sick, but his eyes were weary. Sam wanted to kill him. Or hug him and keep him safe. One of those things. Maybe both. His brother's lips turned down. "Don't look at me like that, Sam. I'm on the last course of the treatment. Haven't even lost my hair this time."

Sam blinked at him. Something about that phrase pricked at his mind. "What the hell do you mean _this time_?" His voice came out shaky and angry.

Dean shrugged. "Got diagnosed about a year after you left for Stanford. Beat the hell out of it then, too."

Sam really, really wanted to shake Dean senseless. He could wait though. He'd nurse the stubborn bastard back to health. Then he'd beat the shit out of him.

"You've been going on hunts like this, Dean. You need to rest. You should be taking it easy." Sam said.

"No." A frustrated expression filled his face. "Look, Sammy, it keeps my mind off being a sick son of a bitch. Hunting's the only thing that kept me sane the last time. Besides, like I said, I'm on the last course of chemo."

And here Sam thought he couldn't get any more pissed at their father. "Dad let you hunt like this?"

"It's wasn't like that, Sam." And Dean sounded so tired, Sam almost let what he said next go. Dean continued. "He was doing his own thing."

Sam might kill the man when they found him. His cheeks flushed. He bit back a snarl. "He left you alone?" Sam grabbed his brother's chin and forced him to look at him. "Did he know? Dean. Did. He. Know."

"He called me like every other day. And he only sent me easy hunts, stuff I could handle with my eyes closed. He knew it helped me get through it." Dean wriggled out of his grip.

Sam wanted to argue. Curse their dad out. But his brother's eyes shone with misery. He needed to believe their father cared. Sometimes, Sam didn't know what the man was thinking. Their dad always had some messed up priorities. Hell, maybe John really believed leaving Dean alone while he was sick was for the best.

His brother cleared his throat. "That's why I've been finding us simple hunts lately – like the goblins…" He sounded ashamed. "If you want to take on some heavier stuff, we can split…"

"I'm not leaving you, man." Sam pulled him to standing. He maneuvered his brother back to the bed and piled the covers on top of him. He tucked him in, smoothing his hair from his forehead, and sat down on the opposite bed.

"Hey, Sammy…" Dean's words were rough and cracked from under the comforters. "Thanks…" He said awkwardly. "But you don't have to take care of me."

"Like hell I do." Sam cut in. "And your welcome. You're not going through this alone." Sam turned off the light. "And I'm going to the doctor's with you next week. And if he and I decide you need a vacation; then you and me, we're taking a vacation, got it?"

Dean snorted. "Whatever. You're a bossy bitch, you know that." Dean said from his bed.

"I'm going to take care of you. Period." Sam said. And he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Here's the list of the doctors you've seen." Sam sat on the bed with his computer. "We should go back to one of them."

"Why?" Dean asked. "I worked it out to go to that guy in Cheyenne. Near that pixie infestation. Dr. Whalbrugh."

"Okay. One – we're not hunting pixies until I've talked to a doctor. And two – do you actually know anything about the guy?"

"I know he's a doctor and I know he'll shoot me up with the chemo drugs."

Sam sighed. "I think we should go back to someone you've already seen. They'll have a better idea of your progress." Sam turned the screen so Dean could see. "Who on the list did you like the most?"

"Morris." Dean said. He crossed his arms and glared; a blatant dare for Sam to challenge the choice. Sam googled Morris.

"He's a veterinarian, Dean." Sam huffed. "I thought you said you were getting quality care...how did you even?" Sam peered at his brother. "You know what? Forget it. I'll research these guys and I'll decide who you're going to go see."

"Fine, Sam. Whatever." Dean stood up. He stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam stared after him. "Cranky bastard…" He muttered, trying really hard not to be too annoyed with his brother. Now that Sam knew he was sick, Dean had traded acting normal for acting like an ass. Sam sighed and started at the first name.

Two days later, he bundled his brother up in one of his hoodies. Dean sat on the edge of the bed with a suspicious scowl painted on his face.

"We're heading south. Come on." Sam told him. Dean didn't move. Sam blinked at him. "Dean…um…can you stand up?"

Dean snorted. His voice rasped out annoyed and tired. "Yeah, Sam. I can stand up. But I'm not moving until you tell me where we're going." His brother crossed his arms and smiled at Sam with pure defiance.

"I'm pretty sure I could pick you up right now." Sam said. Dean's expression turned deadly. Sam put an arm around his shoulder. "I found a doctor. She's in Kansas City, Missouri." He helped him stand. "That's where we're going."

Dean puffed out a breath – a long, suffering groan and proceeded to bitch as Sam helped him to the car. Then he griped about the music playing when Sam turned on the radio. And he argued when Sam insisted that he rest in the passenger seat instead of driving. Had his brother not looked like crap on wheels, Sam would have thrown him out of the car. While it was moving. And he'd have enjoyed it.

But Dean had cancer. Cancer. The word rattled around in Sam's head with an uncomfortable weight.

"Sam, I had this worked out." Dean said in a soft tone.

"Yeah. Well, now I'm here. So deal with it."

Growing up his brother tended to be the caregiver, not the care receiver. Maybe he just didn't understand how to act. That's the thought that kept Sam from killing him before they got to Kansas City. And after a grueling eight hour drive, they were settled at the Pink Pig Motel, a mile west of the hospital.

**

Sam had printed twelve stacks of information on Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He sat beside his brother in the waiting room reading through stack seven – treatments. Dean poked him.

"Who the hell is this Dr. Swanson?"

There were suns and rainbows painted on the walls. Dean slunk down in the chair beside him. His brother fidgeted in his seat. He stuck out his feet. Sam felt Dean watching him and kept reading.

Dean pulled at Sam's printouts. "You suck, you know that." He crossed his arms and glared at the walls. "Why do I have to come see this chick? Look how she had them paint the freakin' walls. We should have gone to the guy in Cheyenne. Or to one of the other doctors I had. That's what you wanted. I agreed to that. Not this."

"Too bad." Sam turned to him. "She's the best in the Midwest."

"Winchester?" The nurse called. Sam jumped up, grabbing his brother. Dean stayed seated.

"You used my real name?" Disbelief fell over his face. "What the hell, man?"

"I worked it out."

Dean cocked his head. "Really? And how did you do that?"

It was Sam's turn to smirk. Dean could just wonder. His brother wouldn't tell him how he'd worked out the drive thru chemo treatments. All Sam knew was that it involved at least one veterinarian. Sam's research also suggested that Dr. Morris the vet was probably the best doctor on the list. Sam found a real oncologist. That's who they were going to see.

Besides, what Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him. His brother didn't like handouts. Sam didn't want him to know he had used an acquaintance from Stanford to get an appointment with the doctor. Or that the friend's father was paying the bills. Or…Sam frowned…that there might have been some blackmail involved on Sam's part. But only after he had asked really nicely and been refused. Although, Dean might be impressed by that last part – especially with how quickly Sam put together the scheme.

He pulled Dean to his feet trying not to cringe at how easy it was to do. The nurse led them down the hall. "Dr. Swanson is waiting in her office. She likes to meet with her patients there during their first appointment." She opened a door and ushered them inside.

Doctor Swanson stayed seated behind a large oak desk as they walked into the room. Sam guessed her to be about fifty. Her stern face and sterile lab coat seemed glaringly hard against the soft yellow walls of her office. She was thin with her gray hair chopped into a spiky cut. Dean shuddered next to him and mouthed 'ghoul' as they moved towards two chairs set in front of her. Sam ignored him. He smiled his most sincere smile and pushed Dean into the left chair. Sam held out his hand.

"I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean." She took his shake with a tight grip. The doctor's lips twitched down as she took in Dean's appearance. Dean glowered back at her. Sam grabbed a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. "Um…here's the list of drugs he's had, the amount, how often, his white blood cell count…everything." Sam handed it over. She glanced at the paper with a furrowed brow.

"He's been taking these?" She asked.

"Yeah…why?" Sam sat down and leaned forward.

"These treatments are outdated." She shot his brother another disapproving glare. "We have much better cocktails today."

"Look, lady." Dean was pissed. "I had the same treatment three years ago and I was cured."

"No." She raised an eyebrow. "It came back. If you'd been cured; you would still be in remission. And these treatments were outdated three years ago, too." She clasped her hands together. Her brow knitted. She turned her attention to Sam. "Does he have insurance?"

"It's taken care of."

"Hmmm." Dr. Swanson rifled through some papers. "I see. At the bequest of Lt. Governor Johnson?" She eyed Sam up and down. He sucked in a breath. Dean watched him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Her lips twitched into a smile. "Well, he can certainly afford it." She nodded to Dean who sank deeper into his chair. Her face hardened. "I'll need to examine him." Dean bristled in the chair next to Sam.

"I'm right here. You can talk to me." He said, throwing his hands up.

The doctor pursed her lips and considered him. She turned back to Sam. "Does he always behave like this?"

"You know what…I'm done." Dean pushed himself out of the chair. "C'mon Sam. This is a fucking waste of time." As soon as he was up, he swayed on his feet. Sam jumped up.

"Whoa." Sam eased him back in the chair. "Look, sit back down. Let's just hear what the doctor has to say."

"No, Sam." Dean wriggled back into the seat, scowling straight through his pale features. "I don't have to deal with this shit. I was doing perfectly fine on my own."

Dr. Swanson stood up and strode around the desk. She grabbed his wrist. Dean squirmed as she took his pulse. She placed her fingertips on his neck checking his glands. She drew back, scrunching up her face. She caught Dean's glare. "That language is unacceptable here. You understand, young man?" And despite her demeanor, Sam had the distinct impression she liked his brother.

Dean opened his mouth to say something. Sam knew whatever it was, it would be bad. He didn't think she'd put up with his crap for much longer. He cut him off. "Yes…um…ma'am. We understand."

"I hope so. This is an office." She turned to Sam, her earlier disapproval deepening on her face. "Now…what does he mean 'on his own'?"

"I only found out about his illness three days ago. So he's been taking care of it himself…"

"And been doing a damn good job of it…" Dean muttered.

Sam sighed. "Until now."

"You've been away?"

"Well…no. I just didn't notice…um…until recently."

"You didn't notice?" She stared at him. She glanced at Dean and then back to Sam, shaking her head.

Sam shifted in his seat. "Look, it's not like he said anything..."

Doctor Swanson cleared her throat. "If you are unable to look after him, we can provide him with a nurse…"

"I can look after him." Sam's voice came out a little harsher than he intended. The doctor leveled her gaze at him. She seemed to approve of whatever she saw there because she nodded.

"Let's talk treatment." She said.


	3. Chapter 3

"_If it's an emergency, call my son, Dean…"_

Sam set the receiver away from his ear. Would it kill the man to pick up the phone? Fury welled up inside of him. He'd left his dad several messages over the last two weeks. Telling him Dean was sick. Letting him know how the treatment was going. Some were nice; some were fuming. None of them, though, had enough impact to make John call back. Well, Sam was about to fix that.

"Hey, Dad. It's me." Sam inhaled a shaky breath, calling on his anger at his father and his grief over losing Jessica to sell his next sentence. "It's Dean…he's…he's dead, Dad. You've gotta come." He let his voice crack. "Room 110, Pink Pig Motel, Kansas City, Missouri. Please, Dad..." He hung up the phone, a grin spreading over his face. Let the bastard ignore that.

Dean stumbled out of the bathroom a moment later. His brother looked him over.

"Don't you just look like the cat that ate the pigeon. What are you so happy about?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing." He considered Dean. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy, Sam." Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, it's all rainbows and candy for me these days."

"You keep anything down?" Sam asked. It was Dean's turn to shrug. He sat down on the bed. Sam grabbed one of his brother's medicines. "Dean, take one of these pills. Doctor Swanson said if you kept throwing up, she wanted to monitor you in the hospital through the last two treatments. So unless you want to spend the next two to three weeks hooked up to an IV, you need to take your medicine."

"I'm not going to stay in the hospital and I'm not taking that crap. The pills make me woozy, Sam. I'd rather be nauseous." Dean fixed him with a hard stare. "Just because we're taking a few weeks off doesn't mean it's safe for me to be in an altered state."

"An altered state?" Sam jingled the pill bottle, groaning. "What the hell do you think you're in now, Dean?"

Dean bit his lip and scrunched his brow. He looked up at Sam. "The pills make me feel like I'm completely out of it. This…" He smirked at Sam throwing his arms out. "Is like a bad hangover. It sucks, but I'm only hazy at worst."

"You took the pills before." Sam said exasperated.

"I took the pills from Dr. Morris…and I didn't get like that."

Sam crossed his arms. "And you stayed nauseous." Dean didn't respond. "If you don't take them and keep some food down, I'm taking you back to the hospital."

Dean glared. "I'm not going back until Wednesday for the scheduled treatment – which is still…" Dean counted off on his fingers. "…three…four…five days away. And all your bitching isn't going to change that, Sam."

Sam groaned and sat on his bed. Taking care of his brother challenged Sam's patience, not to mention his sanity. Ninety percent of the time, watching over sick Dean was plain boring. Sam fiddled on his laptop while his brother rested or while he waited for him at the cancer center. It had not occurred to him that one of the hardest parts of taking care of Dean while he was sick would be the massive amounts of down time. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep and slow.

The not boring times, the other ten percent, were worse. Dean used his limited energy to argue and fight and generally be an obdurate asshole. Like now. And Sam was terrified. What if there was some complication? What if Dean's body just gave out under the treatment? What if he fainted again and didn't get back up? Sam shivered. He felt like he was riding a roller-coaster that was both dull and terrifying. And it had only been two weeks. He stilled his thoughts. Dean needed to take that damn pill. Sam got back up and stomped over to his brother.

"Take the pill, Dean."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "No."

Sam uncapped the bottle. He sprinkled a capsule into his hand and held it out for his brother. "Dean, take the pill." Sam had meant for it to come out pleading. But being cooped up with his brother for the last two weeks was wearing on him. It sounded like a threat.

Dean grinned. "I don't think so, Sammy."

Sam wondered if this was a control issue for his brother. Maybe. Not that it mattered. He needed the medicine. Sam considered forcing it down his throat. He shook his head. No. Dean's fragile health couldn't handle a tussle. Sam's lips twitched down.

"Please…" He gritted out.

Dean frowned at him. Sam saw his face twist as he considered it. Dean's expression settled in a tired glower. "No, Sam. Okay. I don't want to. Those pills make me feel out of it. Can you just leave me alone for five minutes? It's not your job to take care of me, alright."

Dean glanced at the door like he was considering storming out. He winced as he started to stand up. His brother sighed softly and settled back on the bed with slow, pained movements. He turned away from Sam. He didn't sleep, he didn't talk, and he didn't take his damn pill.

That left Sam in the room with nothing to do except wait and worry. He sat on his bed trying not to implode. This bullshit was exactly why their dad needed to come. Dean wouldn't be pulling this attitude with John. Sam knew that for a fact. As soon as their dad showed up – and with the message Sam left, he'd show up – he'd soldier Dean into taking better care of himself.

And his brother needed a morale boost. Sam knew he was scared. Obnoxious and reckless were Dean's default settings for dealing with panic. Seeing their dad would calm him down and raise his spirits. And after they got Dean settled, Sam figured he'd give John a piece of his mind.

Three hours later, there was a knock at the door. Dean sat up, scrunching his brow and looking at the door. Sam moved off the bed. He peered out the peephole. John stood outside with his shoulders slumped. His eyes were red and his clothes crumpled. Sam took in a deep breath and opened the door.

"Sammy…" John stepped inside, folding him in a tight hug. "Been awhile, son." His voice cracked. "I was in Kansas. Came as soon as I got the message. I don't understand how this could have…" Sam closed his eyes and nodded. He felt his father tremble. Sam moved back. His anger at the man for leaving began to war with forming guilt for letting him believe Dean was dead. Sam pushed his remorse down. He and Dean needed him. This was the only way he could think of to make their father show up. He folded his arms into his chest and looked away.

"Dad?" Dean's voice cracked from behind him. John leaned past Sam and gawked at Dean. His brother wore a twinned expression of surprise. John stayed still for a moment. His brother toddled up from the bed with a sheepish grin. Their dad's face morphed. Sam wasn't sure if he was seeing unfathomable relief in his dad's expression or absolute fury.

"Dean?" John sounded unsure, but he strode over. He grabbed Dean tightly and pulled him into his arms. He caught Sam's eyes with a look that meant they'd be having a hell of a conversation about all this very soon. Sam held his gaze. Good. Sam had some things he wanted to say to him, too.


	4. Chapter 4

John tore his gaze from Sam and stepped back from Dean. His brother had a huge grin on his face.

"Dad…" He rasped out. "I…uh…didn't think you got my messages." Dean said. Sam's lips twitched down. He hadn't realized Dean had left their dad messages, too. He supposed it made sense, though. His brother always kept him informed. Dean sank down onto the bed and continued. "I mean…I knew you got them. But I didn't think you'd get a break from work to call or come. It's good to see you." He paused again and nodded to Sam. "Sam's been a real bitch."

"What?" Sam huffed in surprise. "I've been the bitch? Really?" He strode over and plopped beside his brother on the edge of the bed. Sam pushed down his issues with his father for the moment. "He won't take his pills, Dad. He needs rest and food and he does everything in his power to not eat or sleep…oh…and he wants to go hunt pixies."

"I'm sorry." Dean grinned at him. "Let me change that. Sam's been a real _whiney_ bitch."

John moved his hand to Dean's chin. He peered down at his son, a frown deepening on his face. Dean fidgeted on the bed. John's brow knitted in concentration.

"Okay." He said in a slow, calculating tone. "So Sam hasn't been doing a good job taking care of this?"

"What?" Dean's pale features opened in shock. "No, it's not that. Sam's been…" His brother sighed and turned away. "Sam's been great, Dad. I'm trying to eat and sleep, okay? It's just all of this…" He turned back to his father and waved his arm at the room. "The time off, and the hot shot doctor…it's not necessary. I don't need all this."

"Dean…" John moved to sit on the Dean's other side. "You're not looking so good, son. You need to listen to your brother."

Dean turned to him, shivering a little without the comforters. John grabbed the blanket and put it around his shoulders.

"I still have my hair."

John rubbed his back and nodded. "Hair's not everything. You look like hell, son." Sam heard guilt inch into his tone, but he doubted his brother picked it up. "Worse than before."

"Look." His brother cut in with a defensive rasp. "Last time, I kept hunting the whole time. I was on my own for most of it. And I was fine." Dean yanked the blanked around him tighter. "Why should I stay cooped up? I should be out doing my job. I'd feel better that way."

"Right." Sam shook his head. He'd had enough. "You don't need to rest and get better. You should be out in the cold, dangerous world." Sam felt his anger bubbling up, volatile and effusive. "I mean…to hell with the fact that your immune system is on the fritz. Or that the chemo thins your blood. And why start with pixies? Why don't we go hunt a poltergeist or werewolf or something? Or…"

"Boys." John growled.

Sam felt old teenage rebellion jolt through his system. His body tensed and he crossed his arms. "He needs to take care of himself, Dad." He said, loud and firm.

"I do take care of myself." Dean growled.

"Yeah?" Sam shouted as exhaustion, worry, and frustration bested him. "Then maybe Dad and I should both go? Huh? Then would you be happy?"

Sam clamped his mouth shut. He knew he'd said the exact wrong thing from the 'just slapped' expression on his brother's face. Sam turned apologetic eyes his way.

"Dean…I didn't mean…"

"Whatever, Sam." His brother gave him a wry grin. "Not like it would be the first time, anyway." His brother struggled up, leaving the blanket between them. "You two can go wherever the hell you like." Dean stomped into the bathroom with more vigor than he'd had in days. "It's not like either of you wants to be here."

Sam got up to follow him. "Dean…" He heard the bathroom door lock. Sam raised his hand to knock, but his dad stopped him. Sam blinked at him confused.

"Let him simmer down, Sam."

"Or…" Sam said. "I could pick the damn lock and drag his stubborn ass back to bed."

"Sammy…give him a few minutes. He's sick, tired, and frustrated. Let him collect himself."

Sam felt his anger shift towards their dad. That's right. He was mad at him, not Dean. "That's your way, isn't it? Give him a few minutes and he'll be fine. It doesn't always work that way, Dad."

John peered at him with an expression that suggested he didn't appreciate the tone, but instead of commenting, he moved towards the room door.

"I think we need to talk outside, Sam. After that, we'll talk with your brother."

Sam glanced between the bathroom door and the room door. He ran his hand through his hair. Maybe Dean did need a few minutes to himself. Sam knew he did. Only Sam wasn't going to get it. He followed John outside.

"You know…" The words rushed from Sam's lips, hard and unforgiving, as soon as they were outside on the hard cement. "I used to think that Dean thought you were invincible. That he never considered you'd get hurt that badly or killed. But he never thought that way." Sam raised his palms. "I had it wrong. It's the other way around, isn't it, Dad. You just think he can take whatever is thrown at him and he'll be okay. Well, he's not okay, Dad."

"I know that, Sam." John stepped into his space, a snarl on his face. "But I can't be here. Not now. It's too dangerous. Especially with your brother sick."

"He needs you, Dad." Sam softened his voice. "Things other than monsters can take him. You get that, right. He has cancer."

"He has you." John leaned back against the brick of the motel. "Look, Sammy. I wish I could be here for your brother. I do. It's killing me to leave him…"

"But you're gonna do it again, aren't you…" Sam mumbled.

"Look, son." John reached for him. Sam pulled away. "I'll stay until morning. But your brother, he's strong. And I trust you to get him through this." His dad inhaled, his broad chest expanding. "I know it's not fair, Sammy. Not to you. Not to him. But this is our life. And this is how it is."

"Dad…" Sam said, feeling exhausted and hurt and angry.

"Don't argue with me, Sam." Anger crept back into his Dad's tone. "I went through this with him the last time. I know what it's like."

"Really, Dad?" Sam snorted. "You mean you left him then, too."

"That's not how it went, Sam." John paused. "Besides, you were away at school. What did you care what happened to us?"

It was a low blow. Sam felt heat rise in his cheeks.

"No one told me."

His father inhaled deeply, the tension dropping from his face. They both knew that was an argument for a different day.

Sam bit his lip. "He thinks you don't want to be here, Dad." He said it in a gentle tone. John crossed his arms and looked away. Sam couldn't tell if John believed it, but he looked guilty as hell.

John straightened his shoulders. "You make sure he gets better." He nodded toward the door to the room. "And I'll make sure the stubborn kid understands you're in charge." John took in a deep breath. "One more thing, Sam."

Sam held his breath. Something about his father's tone made him nervous.

"Yeah, Dad?"

John stepped towards him, crowding him against the side of the building. "You don't ever, ever pull something like that again. I don't care how much of a selfish bastard you think I am." John's voice cracked. "I can't take that. Not again. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam wanted to argue. If his dad had answered the damn phone, he wouldn't have had to resort to that. "Dad…" He started angrily. "We needed you and…"

"Never again, Sam." John interrupted. "Do. You. Understand?"

Rebellion flared in Sam's gut. He'd been conditioned to obey that tone as much as he'd conditioned himself to fight against it. And while he felt justified in lying to his dad, at the same time, he felt guilty about letting him believe Dean had died. But he wasn't going to back down. Sam had good reasons for what he'd done. The biggest one being his older brother.

"I did what I had to." Sam crossed his arms. "You should understand that…"

John lips twitched down. "We should check on him." The implicit 'this conversation is over' rang in the air. John turned towards the door to the room and Sam stomped after him.

Dean was sitting on the bed when they came back inside. He had his head in his palms. Sam's eyebrows went up. He thought he'd still be in the bathroom pouting.

"You alright, Dean?" John squinted at him concerned.

Dean looked up, startled. He gazed at them with a mixture of surprise and relief. It hit Sam fast that Dean thought they had left him. He frowned. The reaction showed how out of it his brother was since Sam's pack and their dad's keys were still in the room. Not to mention, there was no way in hell Sam was actually leaving him while he had _fucking_ _cancer_. Dean stood up as John walked over to him.

"Sam and I needed to talk outside." He explained. "I have to leave in the morning." Dean's face fell but he nodded. John continued. "You're going to have to listen to Sam, Dean, about the medicine, and you'll have to do what he says for the next few weeks. That's an order." And, maybe, John caught on to more than Sam gave him credit for, because he sounded reassuring. "You understand, son?" John added gently.

Dean looked at him and smiled. His voice came out weak. "Sure, Dad…I…ah…" Dean's face paled. His eyelids fluttered, and he collapsed into their horrified dad's arms.

Sam rushed over.

"Dean!" John shook him. "Dean? You with me, son?"

Dean eyes fluttered back open. "Heh…a little…dizzy." His brother sounded out of breath. Dean started to push back up, but John held him in place.

"Easy there, son." John said turning to Sam. "Get the car, Sam."

"Yeah. Okay." Sam rushed out, grabbing his keys. He jumped in the car, started the engine, and pulled in front of the door.

John emerged from the motel room with Dean thrown over his shoulders. He lumbered to the car and opened the back door. John carefully set Dean into the backseat and then clamored in beside him.

"Could've...walked, Dad…" Dean grumbled.

John ignored him. "Sam. Hospital."

"Yes sir." Sam pushed the pedal and accelerated out of the lot. The emergency room was only a mile away.

"Don't…need the hospital." Dean rasped behind him. "Not the…first time I passed out…"

Sam glanced in the rearview at them. John's lips were pressed tight. He had Dean pulled close to him. His brother's arms were limp at his sides and his head was resting on John's chest.

"Shhh…" John spoke in a soft tone. "Dean you need to relax. Just rest 'til we get the hospital. Breathe nice and slow. Match your breathing to mine." He petted Dean's hair and held him tighter.

Dean shifted weakly. "Not a…damn…dog, Dad."

John chuckled. Sam turned his eyes back to the front. The sound of breathing filled the car. He heard his father clear his throat as he pulled the car into the hospital entrance.

"We're almost there, Dean." John said. "I'll stay until you're through this, son." He added quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam felt the latent grip of panic tighten his chest. He sat beside Dean's bed. The tubes and drips connected into his brother's body in an obscene assault. Sam swallowed. He closed his eyes. Dean was okay. Dean was okay. He kept repeating that to himself. His brother was stable. It was true. That didn't keep his stomach from churning.

Sam startled, opening his eyes, when a warm hand patted his shoulder. He looked up to see their dad standing beside him.

"He's okay, Sam."

Sam eyes itched with tears. "They had to restart his heart." He took in a shaky breath. "Twice."

John paled at that statement. He pulled a chair next to Sam and sat down. John rearranged Dean's blankets, peering down at him with an intensity he reserved for the most serious of circumstances.

"Good news." John turned to Sam. "Doctor Swanson's discontinuing the chemotherapy. Says he appears to be in remission. Thinks the last two treatments aren't really necessary given..." John paused turning back to stare at Dean. "the extent of the side effects."

"He almost died, Dad." Sam heard his voice crack. He was tired. Emotionally spent. Angry at his Dad for not coming sooner and still feeling the ridiculous urge to sob in his arms.

John shuffled closer to Sam. "I know." He chuckled, tucking his arm around Sam's shoulder and pulling him close. "That doctor you found scolded me for a good twenty minutes. I haven't had a shakedown like that since the corps." His father's face became serious. "You did a good job, Sam. It's not your fault he's a stubborn little bastard."

Sam snorted at that. "His heart stopped. Because he didn't sleep or eat." He said again. "He's lost close to forty pounds. I've been with him. I did a shitty job. Admit it." Sam pulled away. "If I'd been the one sick; he wouldn't have let this happen."

"Sam he hasn't kept anything down. He hasn't slept. He didn't tell you he was sick until he passed out a few weeks ago." John leaned back in his chair. He offered him a small smile. "He left me a message eight weeks ago after he started treatment. Promised me he had it under control…"

"Don't do that. Don't blame him."

"Sammy…" John sounded gentle. "It's not him I'm blaming. And it's not you. None of this is your fault." He said again.

Sam didn't comment.

John cleared his throat. "They don't think there's any permanent damage – just the effects of acute exhaustion coupled with dehydration. But with the extent of the weight loss, the doctor thinks his heart should be checked. So far everything's come back normal." John shifted in his seat. "We can take him home tomorrow. Here's a list of foods that should go down easier." John shuffled in his pocket and pulled out a paper. He handed it to Sam. Saltines, low sodium soups, breads, lean proteins like fish…

"Yeah. He'll love these."

John turned towards Dean. "He'll damn well eat whatever we give him." He put his hands over his face and inhaled deeply. "He's okay, Sam." John repeated. This time Sam wasn't sure if he said it for Sam's benefit or his own.

**

They drove Dean back to the motel the next morning. Sam's head pounded. His eyelids were leaden weights. He sat in the backseat beside his brother. Embarrassment seeped into Dean's features during the car ride back to the motel. That warmed Sam's soul a little bit. If Dean was ashamed; he was feeling better.

John pulled the car up to Room 110. Dean jangled the door handle. Sam jumped out his side and ran around the to the other one. John lumbered out of the front seat. He walked to the room, unlocked the door, and returned to stand beside Sam. They watched as Dean fumbled to move his legs out of the car. His feet sprawled out onto the rough pavement. He grinned up at them like he'd accomplished something great.

"You guys gonna move or what?" Dean's voice came out strong but breathy.

John shook his head. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him up.

"Get his other arm, Sam." John said.

Dean fidgeted away when Sam tried pulled his brother's arm around his shoulder. Sam was tempted to force him, but his gut churned. The image of his brother still and pale in the hospital gentled his hand. Sam huffed and turned to their dad.

"Dean…" John warned.

Dean stopped his weak protests and let them walk him into the room, shaking with each step. They deposited him on the bed. Sam rested against the wall. John pulled up a chair up to the bed fixing Dean with a hard glare.

"You're going to rest and then you're going to eat." He said. John turned to Sam. "Sam, go to the store. Get whatever food we need. Your brother and I are going to have a talk."

Sam bristled a little at the tone. He wasn't a damn grunt and John was his father, not his CO. But he bit that down for now. He agreed with the plan, make Dean eat and sleep, even if he didn't like how his father carried it out.

Dean glanced at him from the bed with a miserable twitch in his expression. Sam softened. Suddenly he felt like he had when they were kids. John always sent Sam to his room before he had a talk with Dean about whatever foolhardy thing he'd done. He shot his brother a sympathetic wince. _This is for your own good -_ he thought at him before turning to go out for groceries.

Sam returned to a quiet room. John sat beside Dean on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His brother was slumped against him. His eyes fluttered as Sam walked inside. Dean blinked a few times and shifted so his back was leaning against the headboard.

John grinned and got up from the bed. He patted the spot where he'd been sitting in a simple command. Sam handed him the bags and sank down beside his brother. Dean elbowed him.

"Sit on your own damn bed, you giant freak." His voice sounder stronger than earlier but the statement lacked conviction.

"Fuck you." Sam said. He felt his eyes falling shut. Shit, he was tired. "Dad needs a bed." He mumbled. Dean said something else, but Sam missed it. He heard John rummaging through the bags. Then, despite his best efforts, he felt his head loll against the hard backboard. Deep sleep claimed him.

Sam awoke hours later leaning against his brother. Long sun rays indicative of evening crept through the break in the curtains. Beside him, Dean was curled into Sam's shoulder; his breath soft and even against Sam's arm. John was sitting at the small table watching them, an amused grin plastered on his face.

Sam yawned. "Dad…"

"Feeling better, son?"

Sam squinted at him confused. "Not the sick one, Dad." He glanced down at his brother. Dean's face was pale. His eyes were shut tight like they were fighting for as much rest as possible. He didn't stir as Sam extricated Dean from where he'd been snuggled beside him and settled him down on the pillow.

"Why don't you eat, then we'll wake your brother."

Sam stretched as he got up. "Shouldn't we let him rest."

"He needs to eat, Sam." John held out instant mac n' cheese made from the groceries Sam bought. Sam eyed it with suspicion. John shook his head. "Even I can cook that, son. Besides, you're going to need your strength to help me force some food into your brother."

Maybe Sam hadn't eaten much lately either. This instant food crap was hands down the best thing he'd ever tasted. "Gooood…Dad." Sam cocked his head as John's words found meaning. "Wait." He said between bites of cheese and noodles. "You think he's still not gonna eat? After the hospital? After you talked with him this afternoon?"

"I told him he'd eat." John inhaled and peered at Dean. "But I think it's going to be a battle."

"Huh." Sam finished his food contemplating that. "Why?"

His father opened a can of soup. "Doctor said it might be that way. Some sort of psychological crap." He dumped the contents in a bowl and heated it in the small microwave. "I'll get him eating. You'll need to keep an eye on him after I'm gone so he doesn't stop again."

"You're leaving?" The food turned greasy in his mouth.

"Not yet, Sammy…" John took the soup out of the microwave. "But soon. I've been here too long already. It's not safe."

Sam didn't comment, but he finished his noodles. He watched as John shook Dean awake. Dean groaned as he sat up.

"Not hungry yet, Dad." Dean turned over, hiding his head in the pillow.

"Too bad." John pulled off the blanket. "Chow time. Up. Now, Dean."

Dean sat up. He scrunched his face at the soup in John handed him. "This is what you want me to eat." He sniffed it. "Ugh."

John crossed his arms. He loomed over Dean. "Eat it. All of it. That's an order." His voice was loud and left no room for argument. Dean grimaced, but drank a little of the soup.

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't know why the hell their dad thought this would be a problem. John says jump. Dean says 'Yes sir, right away'. Sam huffed and sank into the chair beside the bed. He sniffed more mac and cheese. It was tottering on top of the microwave. Sam reached over to grab it.

"Dammit, Dean!"

"Dad. Sorry." Dean's face fell. "I dropped it."

"Sam. Make him more. Then sit over here and watch him eat it." John glared at Dean. "All of it."

"C'mon, Dad. It was an accident…"

"Accident my ass."

"And I already ate some of it…" Now Dean sounded annoyed.

John leaned down. He grabbed Dean's shoulders. "And now you're going to eat a whole bowl of it. Drop it again and I'll have you're brother feed it to you. Do you understand?"

Dean shrugged. "But, dude, I'm not hungry and…" He started, but he clamped his mouth shut when John glowered down at him.

"Sam." John motioned towards the soup. "Heat him up another bowl. And make sure he eats all of it."

Sam did as he was told. Dean glowered at him over the food.

"Bitch." His brother mumbled.

Sam watched him struggle to get the soup down. He leaned in. "Look, man. Please eat. You're not sick anymore."

Sam felt his face drop in concern. Dean's stubborn glare flitted off his face. He didn't say anything else, but he finished the soup.

It took another two days of constant harassing before his brother's eating habits weren't forced. After that, he seemed to enjoy the food a little bit more. On the third day, Sam went out and got Dean some real food. The unhealthy kind his brother liked so much. Dean managed to keep down half a cheeseburger. And a plate of fries. Plus some pie. He slept for two hours. He awoke and stared at the cold cheeseburger with a mix of surprise and want. He ate the remaining half and two more pieces of pie. Sam grabbed the pan before he could cram the rest in his mouth.

"Dude, the idea is to eat so you don't starve. Not have so much you make yourself sick."

Dean grinned at him and John. He patted his belly. "I owe her six weeks of food."

"Her? Are you talking about your stomach?" Sam couldn't stop the grin for spreading over his face. "Your stomach is a she?"

Dean snorted. "All the best things in life are she's, Sam."

John shook his head and sank into the chair. He packed to leave that night. Sam and Dean watched him drive away the next morning.

"He should have stayed longer." Sam heard the anger in his voice.

Dean grinned. "That's what you always say. Since you were old enough to talk."

"It's still true."

Dean shrugged. "He came." He said. And Sam vowed never to tell him the trick he pulled to get John to come. His brother turned back towards the motel room.

"Hey, Dean." Sam stopped him. "What did Dad say to you, you know, when you two were alone."

"You mean when I got home from the hospital?"

Sam nodded.

Dean's chest expanded and he took in a breath of air. "Not much. Dad's not much of a talker." He turned his head and sighed. "He said he wasn't mad. But that I had to eat. And sleep. That you were worried sick. Then he put me to bed like a damn kid."

"We both were worried." Sam caught his eyes. "You're still going to have to eat. You get that right?"

Dean eyebrows went up. "Seriously?" Dean snorted. "Sam, it's not a problem. I'm not puking my guts out now. And…" He waved out his arms. "I'm in remission. Besides, like I said, I have to make it up to her with dinner and candy."

"Your stomach?

"That's right, princess." Dean moved towards the door to the room.

"Wait." Sam reached out and stopped him. He bit his lip. "Just…wait. I need to say something." Sam caught his brother's gaze again. "If this ever…" He paused, collecting his words. "If this ever happens again. Or something like it…if you're hurt or sick. You gotta tell me, Dean. I don't care if I'm two feet away or two states away. You let me know and I'll come. You gotta promise me that."

Dean looked away.

"Dean?" Sam prodded.

"Fine." Dean turned back. "Okay. "

"You promise?" Sam stepped towards him. "You have to mean it."

"Alright." Dean held out his arms. "I'll let you know, okay. You done with the hallmark moment?"

Sam relaxed. "Screw you, man."

"Good." Dean threw open the door to the room, color in his cheeks for the first time in weeks. "You're treating to breakfast."

_THE END_

_**Hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks for the feedback and reviews!**  
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